


Love, Actually

by harlowquinn



Series: Teeny Drabbles [3]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Fluff, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlowquinn/pseuds/harlowquinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fucktonoftrees replied to your post:<br/>lazy rainy day sex on the couch where they fell asleep the night before watching love, actually</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love, Actually

**Author's Note:**

> Tree won, because I am a huge fucking sucker for that movie and also because I’m a sucker for slow, lazy, happy sex. Fuck me right up the pooper and call me a romantic.

Living together had not only been the most economical decision I had ever made, but it was by far the most touching. When John came forth, sputtering awkwardly about how he was strapped for cash and needed a roommate, I was quick to accept him on his offer. We already basically lived together, anyway. 

It warmed my heart that he chose me over Jade or Rose. I was above them, although I at least had the tact not to flaunt that in front of them. Okay. I _mostly_ had the tact not to flaunt. I may have rubbed it in just a bit, although Rose was quick to call me out on what kind of motives within my psyche that may be fueling such child-like behavior. 

Needless to say, the flaunting was short lived. 

Unfortunately, what hadn’t been short-lived, were the feelings that I was finally forced to face once John and I moved in together. I was basically head-over-heels for the dork and it was awful. Granted, I had acknowledged them since the two of us were quite young- in our early teens. I’d had time to accept and acknowledge them, as well as the fact that they’d never be returned. That was chill, though. More than chill. It was as cold as the fucking Antarctic. 

Coming to terms with them was far easier than I had initially thought. In fact, I had to do little to no work in actually putting them out on the table. He’d done the honors of calling me out on them, to which I had sputtered incoherently, trying to deny it vehemently until he softly laughed, hugged me, then reassured me that it was okay. It was actually more than okay, because he felt quite similarly. 

Thus began the further adventures of John and Dave. Although we had both almost always been referred to as John and Dave, never just John, or just Dave. Always John and Dave. We had always been a unit, just now it was “The Further Adventures of John and Dave (Now With Relationship Expansion Pack)". And jesus fucking hell, praise whatever gods that may have existed, I was one happy, sappy, romantic bastard. 

I still am, even though nearly six months have passed and I’m now lying on the couch with John, debating which shitty romance movie we should watch. Admittedly, I probably have an even bigger soft spot for romance than Karkat, but holy hell, I’d never hear the end of it from either John nor the grumpy assface himself. 

Instead of pressing the matter, I let John do his thing. He’s apparently got a whole _playlist_ of romance movies. Who even does that? 

My dork, apparently does. 

Once settled in, I lost interest in the movie in favor of staring up at John. The pitter-patter of the quiet rain outside makes this scene heartwrenchingly comfortable, and although I’m far too content with my head resting gently in his lap, the urge to kiss him pulls within the center of my chest. 

By some miracle, he seems to sense it, and he stoops down to press his somewhat chapped lips to my own. 

We fall into the rhythm that I’ve yet to fall into with everyone else. Our kissing moves smoothly as our lips work against one another and the moment seems so painfully perfect that someone could have easily pasted it into the center of another shitty chick flick that I’d secretly love.

As our rhythm continues with our lips, it spreads, slowly, but surely and with deadly intent. First our hands fall victim, gliding and feeling at each other’s sides, then thighs. Our hips follow the rhythm in time. 

He lazily thrusts into me as I arch beneath him, my spine lifting from the couch cushions as he murmurs sweet nothings into my ear. I breathe them back as best as I can, only halting and stuttering when I’m finally able to finish, him following suit just a few seconds later. 

Nothing pleases me more than when he cleans me up, kisses my temple and murmurs, “You’re too good to me, too good, Dave."

Admittedly, it does please me more when he pulls me close to his form, lightly cards his perfect, pianist fingers through my hair as the next movie begins to play.

I recognize it immediately as _Love, Actually._

And I’m startled into thinking about how well it suits my situation.

A dorky boyfriend who leaves his messes all around the house, and the painful quiet after arguments, only to be made up with soft kisses and apologies, and of course, these moments that make everything so worth it.

After all, this is love, actually.


End file.
